Voices
by Miss Malice
Summary: Weird things happen, as they may, in Snape's dungeon. Also, thanks to the filmmakers, we know that Severus' voice is the vocal equivalent of black velvet. But are Hogwarts students aware of that yet? Let's find out '-)
1. Mint

**Disclaimer:** HPVerse belongs to J.K.Rowling, bless her. The Voice in all its power belongs to Alan Rickman, bless him. The picture that inspired the story belongs to me and can be found at http://www.elefwin.narod.ru/hp/fa38.htm . And the comment that started it all belongs to the amazing Naraku. There.

**Author's Note:** this is an odd story. It's got exasperating mood and style jumps. This first part is mostly mysterious (and less coherent), the second one is mostly humorous. And I let my sense of humor show off its dark side. You may read either part as a stand-alone sketch, though reading the first one would help you understand the beginning of the second one. Not properly confused yet? Good '-) Enjoy.

~

**Mint**

A faint tinge of mint, so out of place in the still air of the dungeons... Something touched your face, ran slow cold fingers over your cheek. You jerked aside with a startled gasp, hitting damp rough stones of the wall. Of course, you were alone in the corridor, silly. It was just... draught. Just a stupid old castle with its ghosts.

But mint. Fresh and strong, sharp green sparkles flashing in your eyes, melting on your tongue!

What is it, silly boy? Are you afraid of the dark? Of the Dark? Are you?..

...Neat rows of shelves lined with jars, bottles, phials. Most of them not labeled, and you would not be able to read the labels anyway. Yet in one insane instant you knew what they were and what they did. You could take a small phial and list the exact components of the solution inside. So simple. So fascinating. And mint coolness in your throat.

Green sparks hovered in the air, danced around you, whispering about perfection, and power, and passion... You _knew_ how to bottle fame, brew glory and stopper death. 

...Green leaves adorned with dew. Soft, rich, deep green and silver, your House colors.

You took the bottle and fled, yearning for familiar black. And the sudden frightening knowledge disappeared, leaving but a faint cool aftertaste on your fingers.

"Lumos," because you did not want to do anything stupid again, to break the bottle, to have to return down there...

He stood in your way, not a ghost because you did not see him shimmering in the dark, and not real because you could see the walls through him now. A boy, a 7th year perhaps. Tattered robes clung to his skinny lanky frame, and tousled black hair framed an inspired yet terrified face.

Are you afraid? Of the Dark?

Green laced with black, a bitter tang in mint sweetness. You must have screamed...

...something like ancient Vade Retro, brandishing your wand like a broken sword. For a split second the world disappeared in a flash of blinding light, and then there were only you, and damp walls, and a few green sparks in your eyes. You blinked, shook your head, and the sparks vanished.

Ghastly cold fingers stroked the nape of your neck at parting.

The air smelled of old dust - and of fresh trouble, near the Potions classroom door.

"Mister Malfoy," said professor Snape coldly, "you are late."

...Black, goodness, black. Why are you trembling, then?

"There was a gh-host in the dungeon. Sir..."

_Afraid of the Dark?.._

The bottle slipped from your suddenly numb hand.

"...Which is a common sight at Hogwarts," firm fingers neatly caught the item before it had a chance to fall.

Dim light played wicked tricks on you, casting odd shadows across your teacher's face, flickering in a green halo, subsiding to innocent smoke before the realization hit you...

"I expect more attention _in_ class from you, mister Malfoy. Inability to tell a spirit from a ghost is tolerable, gaping is not."

You did gape a bit more, though. Had he not turned his back to you, it would have probably earned you a detention. 

...if it was not for the scent lingering in seething air, just for you, contradicting the words wickedly...

Mint.

~


	2. Poison Ivy

**Poison Ivy**

It was, generally, the Malfoy brat's fault. Had Draco Malfoy used half of his wits, he would not have had to reprimand the boy in front of the whole Slytherin & Gryffindor combined class. And had he not done so, said class would certainly have _not_ given him undivided attention... 

Both Gryffindors and Slytherins stared at professor Snape in disbelief, though for different reasons. Rare sniggers and shocked gasps died away, and they just stared - and listened. Sound waves are vibrations of the air, after all, and there was _something_ in the air that day...

He even liked it, first. No side talks. No silly whispers behind his back. No distractions, for Merlin's sake, only wide open eyes gleaming with an occasional spark of intellect. The students seemed to actually hear and understand his instructions, and even to follow them. Even those students whom he would not suspect capable of such feat.

Perhaps he should mark this special day.

Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley have suddenly discovered in today's classwork something more attractive than an animated Quidditch talk. Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger were making notes with somewhat dreamy expression on their faces. Hermione forgot to monitor Neville Longbottom's progress, and Neville, surprisingly, was doing just fine on his own. Crabbe and Goyle followed Draco Malfoy's example, and Draco indulged himself in listening & staring because, well, everybody else was doing it.

He began to worry, ever so slightly, when the dreamy bliss has spread across _every_ single face in the classroom, save for his own. That was unnerving. Against all rationality, it ruined his concentration. They watched him as though he has done - or was about to do - something overly exciting, which was clearly _not_ the case. Not if all his students have discovered the subtle yet captivating beauty of potion brewing in last ten minutes, which would be too great a miracle to ask for. 

Severus Snape was not unaccustomed to abnormal things happening during his lessons. Cauldrons, for example, contrary to common belief, _did_ melt. And a whole shelf in one of his _locked_ closets contained samples of _amazing_ stuff his students had accidentally mixed up, carefully preserved for detailed study. Accidents could be turned into valuable lessons, only first they had to be sorted out. As soon as possible.

He put on a scowl and went to examine this day's work, generously pointing out the ways to improve - there always are - and taking points to keep the balance. His remarks were diligently written down not only by the students advised, but by the whole class, again. _Damn_. 

He assigned homework and then, inspired, doubled it. And that _did not work_. They scribbled it all down, and then those disturbing, _waiting_ eyes stared at him again. Oh well... Severus Snape was a resourceful wizard, he ought to be. He announced a test without setting an exact date. That used to stir up some emotion. Well, practically always.

He tried to keep an eye on the class, at the same time avoiding direct contact with that group stare. Not feeling like it, but sneering anyway, he took twenty points from Gryffindor. Harry bloody Potter regarded him with the same intense calm. He regrouped and took twenty points from Slytherin. It could not hurt - at least not much more - to experiment now. Like good laboratory subjects everywhere, the students showed no reaction aside from occasional nod or approving blink.

He felt the first visceral stir of panic. They were not making anything serious today, were they? He made up a quick inventory. No, no component of today's study could possibly cause hallucinations or suchlike... And he saw to it that the students seldom had any spare time for going unduly inventive. And yet here they were... He risked a glance at his... audience. Here they were, right. 

Quietly but desperately Severus Snape swore. And immediately a discovery has been made. Even hushed, his voice carried perfectly clear to the farthest corners of the room. At a table in the back row Letitia Bolde of the Slytherin seemed to faint happily. The others kept _aggressively_ listening. 

Severus cleared his throat to probably yell something, but thought better of it. He turned to the board and wrote, all over it, "CLASS DISMISSED". He tapped the writing with his wand to make it glow suggestively. There was no way the class could miss the message, yet they did nothing about it. Confusion tinted their sharp glassy eyes, but the children did not move.

Mind racing, he stepped backwards to the reassuring classroom door and swung it open. Would it be too much to ask for _some_ sentient creature to be there?

Peeves leered at him.

Apparently, it _would_. Then again, today discoveries awaited not only Severus Snape. The poltergeist, for example, has found out that there _were_ things worse than Bloody Baron. The Potions master in an uncertain frame of mind, for one...

...An hour and a half later young Gryffindors and Slytherins joined their schoolmates in the Great Hall for a meal. All but Miss Bolde, who had to stay in the hospital wing, just in case. There were empty chairs at the staff table, too, although any possible comments quickly withered under Professor McGonagall's decidedly severe gaze. 

In his study in a tower high above the Hall Albus Dumbledore poured brandy into a cup of his famous tea. _His_ eyes twinkled as he glanced up at Severus Snape being decidedly uncomfortable in an inviting chair. The Potions master looked pale, drained and somewhat harassed.

"There, there, Severus. Do not be so upset. It was a coincidence. A remarkable one, I should say, but not more than that." 

Snape relaxed a fraction. The tea promised wonders to his exhausted senses. 

"Although," the headmaster smiled, "I'd be careful with the Voice next time."

Severus _could_ choke on his tea, but that was really unnecessary and a waste of perfectly good beverage. So, for the moment, he went, _Bugger that_.

~ 

fin '-)


End file.
